


Walk With You

by diamondrough



Category: God's Own Country (2017)
Genre: Canon-typical language, Homesickness, Learning how to have Emotions, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, farm life, having a pint down the local, nan can do beasts, yorkshire english is another language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28018233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diamondrough/pseuds/diamondrough
Summary: "They're not characters who say 'I love you,' so they call each other faggots." - Francis LeeThree scenes from the months after they come back to one another (or, three ways they don't say 'I love you'). Features a bit of dialogue, some brooding, and a ton of sex.
Relationships: Gheorghe Ionescu/Johnny Saxby
Comments: 12
Kudos: 130





	Walk With You

_-_

**1\. even in the dead of night**

-

Johnny wakes with a start as the coach brakes abruptly at one of the unmarked stops along the muddy road. In daylight, farmland stretches past the fences on either side, but right now it’s as dark as it was when he fell asleep an hour ago, and he’s got a crick in his neck something awful. 

“This is ours,” Gheorghe says, just as the bus driver calls out “Saxby!” in an irritated tone.

“All right, comin’,” Johnny calls back, unfolding himself to let Gheorghe out and hoist his bag from under the seat in front. They step out into the night and it takes a good minute for their eyes to adjust to the moonlight, making out the faint drive just up ahead. 

They walk. 

He can’t quite see Gheorghe’s face, but it’s silent on the road and he can hear Gheorghe’s footsteps, his breathing, the shift of his pack against his coat.

“Time is it, anyway?” Johnny asks.

“Around midnight, I think,” Gheorghe says, and takes his hands out of his pockets, moves just a little closer so their fingers brush.

They’re quiet, approaching the dark house, and Johnny thinks that maybe this is a moment that should be filled with words. But he used his up in Scotland, and he can’t rightly expect anything from Gheorghe, so he just traces up the back of Gheorghe’s hand with his thumb.

They walk past the caravan. The front door is unlocked and they slip inside, trying and partially succeeding to take off their coats and boots without making a racket. If Deirdre was awake she would be putting the kettle on no matter the time, but the house is quiet, and Johnny leads them upstairs.

He switches on the lamp when the door is closed. It feels too bright at first after walking through the night. But then Johnny turns and sees Gheorghe there. In his house, in his bedroom, solid and present. 

He feels himself relax a little bit, let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. 

Gheorghe’s just standing there looking at him, then at the sweater on the bed, and his face is unreadable.

Johnny’s got time enough just to wonder if something’s wrong, and then Gheorghe shoves him by the shoulders, backing him up against the wall. His eyes are dark, so dark, and then he’s dropping to his knees and working the button and zip on Johnny’s trousers. His hands are shaking. 

“Oh,” Johnny breathes, and he’s suddenly lightheaded, hot between his legs where he’s rapidly getting hard and Gheorghe is tugging his trousers and pants down. Gheorghe makes a noise almost like relief at the sight of his cock and then he’s swallowing it down without ceremony, wet and hot as he takes it right to the back of his throat. Johnny feels the vibration of a groan and then Gheorghe’s tongue is everywhere, licking up the underside, lapping at the head, before opening up again and sliding his mouth down the length of it. Johnny fists one hand in Gheorghe’s hair. 

“Jesus,” he whispers, pulling just enough that he can see Gheorghe’s face, tilted up, lips full and wet and stretched around his cock. Their eyes meet and Gheorghe takes it a little deeper, starting to drool, and Johnny’s hot all over. “Fuck.”

Gheorghe reaches up and pushes a little on the hand in his hair, encouraging. Johnny pushes his hips forward and presses deeper, holding Gheorghe’s head still as he fucks into his mouth. He gets in maybe two, three more thrusts before he’s doubling over, choking on a moan as he comes harder, faster than he has in weeks. Sliding down the wall, he slumps awkwardly tangled in his trousers, dazed as Gheorghe swallows and scrubs the back of his hand across his mouth. 

He’s on Gheorghe then, sitting up enough to pull him in to kiss. His mouth is salty and hot and Johnny moans into the kiss, holding Gheorghe’s face in both hands. He hadn’t let himself think about this bit.

Gheorghe cups his jaw in one big hand and licks into his mouth, breathing heavily. He pulls back just enough to say, “Let me fuck you,” and Johnny is nodding before he even gives it a thought. He never did, before, with the men outside the pub or at the auction. Never wanted to. 

But Gheorghe gets to his feet and offers him a hand up from the floor, and he takes it. They grab at one another’s clothes, fumbling with layers of thick sweaters, and Johnny gets distracted for a minute by biting at Gheorghe’s neck where it’s warm and smells familiar. He gets his hands on Gheorghe’s belt and pops the buttons on his trousers frantically, reaches down to wrap a hand around his cock and rubs his thumb over the tip where it’s hot and damp. Gheorghe groans, tilts his hips into the touch. 

For a moment Johnny remembers lying in a cold sleeping bag, listening to the clink of Gheorghe’s belt, struck dumb with the intensity of wanting what blokes like him don’t get. Now, though, he’s holding it. He feels a wave of gratitude so intense his vision swims. 

He’ll not be caught fucking crying again, though, so he blinks it away and shoves Gheorghe back toward the bed instead.

They manage to actually get their kits off before Gheorghe lays him out, but it’s a near thing. He’s hungry for it, groans at the feeling of skin on skin as Gheorghe straddles him. They’re both well strong enough for the work but Gheorghe’s bigger, more solid, and Johnny’ll never breathe a word outside this room about how much he likes being pinned down. Gheorghe’s got a firm hold of his wrists to the mattress and he grinds against Johnny’s hip, too slowly, just looking at him and smirking so small you’d miss it.

“On wi’ it, then,” Johnny says, impatient, and Gheorghe presses him down harder, keeps him still.

“You still have…?” he asks, and Johnny nods toward the other side of the bed. “Didn’t touch ‘em.” He needs Gheorghe to know that.

Gheorghe lets up the pressure on his wrists and manhandles him over onto his hands and knees, then digs under the mattress to find a condom and slick where they left it. Johnny presses his forehead into the pillow, and then there’s movement next to him and Gheorghe’s hands and breath are on his arse. Gheorghe holds his hips, fingers digging in, and softly trails kisses up his thighs. He bites the curve where thigh becomes buttock and Johnny bunches the sheet in his hand, then gasps into the pillow as he feels a hot tongue trail from behind his balls all the way up, circling his hole. Another thing he didn’t expect to ever like. But Gheorghe happened, and now he’s arse up begging for it, pressing back into the mouth laying wet kisses all over him. Gheorghe slips a finger inside him between licks and his toes curl.

Before, Johnny had always been both frustrated and impressed with Gheorghe’s patience, his desire to take his sweet goddamn time working Johnny over before they fucked. He’s clearly still enjoying this part, makes a satisfied noise as he sinks two fingers into Johnny and presses them deep, marking his arse with more bites as he slides in and out. But it’s not slow, and he doesn’t make Johnny ask for it before he rips open the condom packet with his teeth. The slick is cold where his tongue was so hot, and then he’s pressing in, leaning his weight on Johnny’s back and holding him flat down to the bed as he works the head of his cock just inside. He moans, low and deep, and it doesn’t hurt but Johnny’s fucking overwhelmed by it, the hot slide in that feels endless, the sensation of being filled up that’s unlike anything else. He’d tried it with his fingers, once, before he’d gotten his head on right and decided to go to Scotland, but it wasn’t enough. Wasn’t the same.

“Fuck,” Gheorghe says into Johnny’s shoulder, sounding shaken, then sighs as he slowly starts to move. He finds Johnny’s hand on the sheets and covers it with his own.

Time gets muddled, then, slowing down and sharpening Johnny’s focus so all he feels is the heat and stretch of Gheorghe inside him, the firm hold Gheorghe has on his hip, the cotton sheet under his fingertips. He’s trying and failing and trying to be quiet but he can’t help himself, a groan spills out muffled by the pillow and he shoves himself back onto Gheorghe’s cock as much as he can, desperate to somehow have more of this. 

Then Gheorghe says “Come here,” and pulls out, sits back on his heels and guides Johnny up to sit on his cock, holding him tight to his chest as he buries himself in Johnny’s arse again, and it was good but now it’s fucking gorgeous, it’s perfect. Johnny’s head falls back and Gheorghe nuzzles at his neck, kisses his earlobe and fucks him a little harder. He gets a hand around Johnny’s cock and presses in right _there_ , and within a couple of strokes Johnny’s coming again, gritting his teeth to keep quiet and shooting all over his chest and stomach and Gheorghe’s hand. “Yes,” Gheorghe breathes into his ear and swipes his thumb across Johnny’s lower lip, putting two wet fingers inside when he opens up. Johnny sucks at them, licks his own taste off, and then Gheorghe’s hips speed up and then he loses his rhythm as he gasps and shakes and comes, and Johnny suddenly, intensely wants to know what it feels like without a condom, for Gheorghe to make a mess of him. His cock twitches and he flexes his arse, and Gheorghe moans a little, then pulls out, tugging off the condom and tossing it on the floor.

They both flop down on their backs, and it’s quiet for a moment. Johnny could kill for a fag, but he chain-smoked his way through the whole packet waiting on the farm. He turns to look at Gheorghe and finds him already looking back.

“What?” 

Gheorghe’s eyes are always soft as anything and Johnny can barely stand it. Then he says, “I missed you,” just like that, and Johnny has to turn and look back up at the ceiling. He’s turning into a great whingy girl, can feel more tears prickling at his eyes. He’ll absolutely not fucking cry again today, but he’s also not daft enough to make the same mistake twice. 

So he doesn’t look, but he curls his fingers around Gheorghe’s and brings their hands up to kiss his wrist, his palm, the tips of his fingers. He swallows and says, mostly steady, “Aye, me too.” 

Several long moments pass, the threat of tears subsides, and then Johnny realizes he’s sticky and dying for a piss. He heaves himself up and tugs on the sweater that had fallen to the floor. He’s gotten used to wearing it at night or whenever he doesn’t have to be out mucking shit. Don’t want to ruin it, like. 

He turns and Gheorghe’s looking at him, smirking a bit, and Johnny feels cheeky enough to wink. Gheorghe laughs and turns over, tugging up the blankets.

He’s asleep by the time Johnny comes back from the bog, snoring softly into the pillow. He’s stolen all the blankets and Johnny has to fight to tuck himself in with enough room on the narrow bed. Still, though, he can’t think of a happier moment. 

He sleeps well for the first time in weeks. 

-

**2\. do right by you**

-

Most of the time they’re focused on the work, especially now, when the farm is starting to flourish and it needs more care than ever to stay that way. Days are for minding the sheep and cows, or fixing what’s broke this week, or going down to market or auction and keeping the books straight. Johnny’s long used to it and Gheorghe settled in quick enough, noticing where he’s needed and setting to work without hesitation.

They don’t talk much, out there. They don’t need to: the pair of them have been tending to land and animals since they were barely grown enough to start pitching in. Different landscapes, but it lives in their bodies just the same. Johnny likes that about them, being a pair. Didn’t realize how lonely it was, till it wasn’t anymore.

Nights are slower, and they talk the most in bed - before falling asleep, or the minutes between waking and rising, or after they fuck. 

Johnny’s always been a shit liar, and when he says they’re tired and going to bed early on a Wednesday night at half nine, Deirdre just rolls her eyes. It’s no matter, though, because their day is finished, and he’s free to push Gheorghe toward the stairs and grope him shamelessly as he follows behind. 

Johnny locks the bedroom door behind them and then Gheorghe’s close, smiling at him all warmth and anticipation, and Johnny has to kiss him. Can’t get enough. Won’t ever get enough, it feels like. They kiss and kiss, Gheorghe dipping his head to get his mouth on Johnny’s neck and bite ever so gently. Just that is doing it for him, and he sighs, turning to expose more skin and reaching down to squeeze his own cock through his trousers. 

Gheorghe notices and chuckles low in his throat. “You’re so easy,” he says softly, batting Johnny’s hand away, and Johnny feels his face grow warm as Gheorghe traces the outline of his cock, hard and aching to be touched. 

“Aye, and what?” he says, a little embarrassed but mostly just turned on. 

“And,” says Gheorghe, kissing him again, “I like it.”

Johnny feels his face get even warmer, but something leaps in his chest at the words. He pushes his hips forward against Gheorghe’s hand and kisses him back hard, biting his lower lip and then soothing the spot with his tongue. 

They eventually make their way to the bed, clothes tossed on the floor, laid out on the sheets skin to skin. Johnny is a simple bloke, he knows. He’s content with simple pleasures, like the first cigarette of the morning or a cold lager in the bath.

Or sucking cock. Gheorghe’s, in particular.

So he settles on his belly in the V of Gheorghe’s legs and takes his time, kissing up the soft skin of Gheorghe’s thigh, sucking a bruise to mark his territory even though no one will see it but them. Gheorghe slides a hand into his hair and groans as he finally gets his mouth on it, takes as much as he comfortably can and then pushes just a little further into his throat. He bobs his head, picking up a rhythm and getting lost in it as Gheorghe tries to stay quiet, a few breathy moans escaping. Johnny can’t help rubbing himself against the sheets as he blows Gheorghe, his jaw aching pleasantly, and when Gheorghe’s thighs tense and shake, he gets a hand on himself and starts wanking along with the rhythm of his mouth. The first spurts of come hitting the back of his throat set him off and then he’s gone too, shaking with it. 

They lie there for a few moments as their breathing slows, Gheorge’s fingers gently moving through his hair. But then the wet spot of come rapidly gets cold under him and Johnny heaves himself up to the head of the bed, tugging at the blanket. 

“Shove over, you,” he says, and they arrange themselves so they’re mostly covered and reasonably warm. Johnny deliberately puts his cold foot on the back of Gheorghe’s leg, making him hiss.

“That is what socks are for.” 

Johnny scoffs, “Not gettin’ up,” and tucks himself closer, pressed into Gheorghe’s warmth.

They’re quiet. The muffled sound of BBC One filters up from downtstairs. Johnny’s mind feels slowed down and calm, the way it always gets after.

Eventually a thought bubbles to the surface.

“You said there was someone once,” he says into the dim room, “before you came here.” He’s curious, is all. 

“Yes,” says Gheorghe. “Years ago.” He sounds hesitant.

“Tell me. I want to know.” Johnny turns into him, cheek resting against his chest.

Gheorghe relents. “All right. After my farm - “ He pauses. “After the farm, I lived in the city - in Bucharest, the capital. For a few years. I found work there, until I could not anymore.”

“You met there.”

“We met through my sister’s friends. His name was Matei, he was a teacher. We were together for...a while.”

Johnny wonders what _a while_ is. If he’ll get a while, too.

“Was it serious, then?”

“I thought so, at the time,” Gheorghe says, sounding uncharacteristically bitter. Johnny waits. “We lived together. I came home one day and he was there with someone. In our bed.”

Johnny’s stomach drops.

Gheorghe sighs softly. “I do not think he even felt bad about it.”

It’s silent for a few long moments, and Johnny feels sick with the kind of shame he hasn’t felt since that night at the pub, ages ago. 

“Then you ended up wi’ me,” he manages after a while. “And I…” He trails off.

“Yes,” says Gheorghe, simply.

“I’m daft as a fuckin' brush, aren't I?” Johnny says. 

Gheorghe looks down at him. “This is a dialect thing, no?”

“Aye, means a stupid fuckin’ arsehole.” 

At this, Gheorghe chuckles. “Only sometimes.”

Johnny turns his face into Gheorghe’s chest and closes his eyes. 

“Thank you for comin’ back anyway.”

Gheorghe presses his nose into Johnny’s hair and drops a quick kiss there. “You are nothing like him.” Then he rolls over, adjusting his pillow. 

That seems to be all he’ll get out of Gheorghe tonight. But Johnny’s still a bit tense. What if he cocks it up again, and makes Gheorghe leave? What if - 

Gheorghe reaches out blindly behind him and flicks at Johnny’s leg. “It is in the past, John,” he says, half into the pillow. “Stop thinking so much, you will sprain something.”

“Oh, piss off,” Johnny says, but at that, he feels a bit lighter.

“Go to sleep,” says Gheorghe, and Johnny rolls his eyes in the dark, but the days are long and full with work, and he’s knackered. He listens to Gheorghe’s slow breathing next to him, and in a few minutes, he’s sound asleep.

  
-

**3\. when you can’t look back**

-

They don’t go back to the pub for quite awhile, but when the Christmas holidays come and Robyn’s back again to visit, John doesn’t turn down the invite. Gheorghe hesitates before agreeing to join them, wary of the English men there who take pleasure in making him feel unwelcome. But John insists he’ll handle anyone who tries it, _and besides, can’t be good for ya, just bein’ wi’ Saxbys all the time_. He has a point, but more than that, Gheorghe likes to say yes to him. 

So they go for a pint on Christmas Eve. 

It’s nice. No one immediately turns Gheorghe away at the door, and Robyn is friendly and chatty, with a never-ending supply of embarrassing stories about John from their school days that she’s only too happy to share. It’s delicious to watch John blush as Robyn needles him about some silly drinking game they used to play. 

To his credit, John’s only two drinks in, and that’ll probably be enough for him tonight. Gheorghe had commented on it once, back in the fall, and John had only said matter-of-factly, “Our grandad drank ‘imself to death. Don’t want to go down that road,” the trailing _anymore_ so clear it didn’t need to be said.

So they sip pints of reasonably good beer and watch people playing darts. Robyn tells them about the new man called Iain that she’s seeing in Bradford. She and John both insist that Gheorghe try the Marmite crisps they’re sharing, and cackle at the face he makes when he does. When John says he’ll be back in just a minute and heads to the loo in the back of the pub, Gheorghe can’t help tensing a bit, looking down at his own fingers tapping restlessly on the table. But then Robyn says “Can’t remember when I’ve seen our Johnny looking this happy. You’re a good influence on the mardy arse,” and gives him a look like she knows exactly what kind of influence, and then John slips back into the booth beside him and squeezes his thigh under the table, and it’s okay. It’s good. 

Just before ten, there’s a tinny noise and it takes Gheorghe a moment to realize it’s his mobile. There’s no reception at the farm, and besides, his family have more important things to spend money on than long-distance calls. He always brings it into town anyway, just in case.

“It is my mother,” he says quietly, looking at the tiny screen. John stands to make way for him to get up, touching his hand briefly while it’s still out of sight of the other patrons. He answers the phone on the way to the door.

“Bună mama, ce faci?”

-

When they come to find him, Gheorghe is leaning against the wall of the pub, watching snow fall and scatter in the light of the streetlamps. “Fuckin’ freezin’ out ‘ere,” John says as he tosses Gheorghe the coat he left inside. 

“Aye,” Gheorghe replies, without thinking, then feels his face flush when Robyn crows a high-pitched laugh.

“What’ve you done to your fella, Johnny?” she teases around the cigarette hanging from her lips, and flicks her lighter.

“Fuck off,” John says, smiling. He taps one cigarette from the packet for himself and hands another to Gheorghe, then gently bumps his shoulder before lighting both for them. “It’s cultural exchange, like.”

Gheorghe smiles at this despite himself and huffs out a laugh along with the smoke in his lungs. “Yes, and you’ve got a vocabulary of, hmm, three words in Romanian now?” 

“You fuck off too,” Johnny laughs. “Anyway, how’s your mum?”

Gheorghe can’t quite think of how to answer that. She is getting older. She sits on the front porch of the too-small house with his father and aunt, and watches nothing happen in their village. Her calling card only had ten minutes’ worth left and she used it all to call him on Christmas Eve, and Gheorghe feels something like guilt, homesickness, and gratitude all mixed together.

What he says is: “She is okay.” 

He takes another drag from the cigarette. “My family was on the way to midnight mass so she could not speak for long. But they are all okay.” 

They’re quiet for a moment. 

“When were you home last?” Robyn asks.

Gheorghe actually has to think about it. Long enough that it feels normal to be gone. And this year has not passed the way it always does, the seasons ticking by in their rhythm - it was structured instead by arriving here, to John, then leaving, and finally coming back again. 

“Three years,” he says finally.

“Oh, what a shame!” she says, and Gheorghe doesn’t really have it in him to say it’s fine. He hasn’t met his two nieces yet because he’s been abroad, sending money home so their books and school clothes are paid for. It _is_ a shame. 

He nods, and smokes. “Yes.”

John presses close, slings his arm around Gheorghe’s shoulders in a way that might look to any passerby like just two mates. “Next year,” he says, warm against Gheorghe’s side. “You’ll go back.”

Gheorghe looks at him and briefly reaches up to touch the hand resting on his shoulder. John looks completely confident about the idea, and Gheorghe sighs.

“We will see how the farm does. It costs a lot.”

Robyn takes a long drag from her cigarette, and points at Gheorghe with the glowing stub of it.. “I’ll tell you summat, and don’t say no just now. Iain’s a good bloke. He works at a travel agent and he’s always givin’ employee discount to his mates, folk who need it. I’ll put in a good word for yous, that’s all.”

She tosses the butt on the ground and grinds it out with the toe of her boot, turns to go inside. “Think about it,” she says, and then she’s gone. 

The street is quiet. John flicks the butt of his of cigarette to the ground and looks around quickly, then leans in for a kiss. He tastes like nicotine and beer and the way he always just tastes like himself, too. When he pulls away, he says, “Think about it, yeah?” 

Gheorghe raises an eyebrow. Next Christmas is a long time from now.

“It’s late,” he says, finishing his smoke and leaning back in close to kiss John on the forehead. “We should go back soon.” Deirdre doesn’t pay much mind to what they do normally, as long as the work is done, but she’ll be cross if they’re too tired from a night out to appreciate her Christmas spread. 

“Aye, soon,” says John, and heads for the door back in, Gheorghe close behind. 

-

Later, Robyn gives Gheorghe a surprisingly affectionate hug and they say their goodbyes. John is quiet on the way home, quiet as they undress and turn out the lights and shuffle around in bed to make room for one another. It’s not unusual, but it’s a different quality of quiet than most days, and Gheorghe can tell he’s still awake from the way he’s breathing.

“What are you thinking?” he asks softly.

“Nowt,” replies John, of course. He pauses. “Just, like I said, only bein’ around us all the time can’t be good for ya, can it.”

He tends to speak this way, saying things that don’t mean much on the surface but hint at what’s beneath. It’s better than when he barely spoke at all, and Gheorghe shifts to run a hand through John’s hair, trailing his fingers down to the curve of his neck, his shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

John sighs a bit. “You should be able to go home, is all.” 

It’s easy to peg him as gruff and stoic at first, just like the men before him, the men who live their whole lives in towns like his. But here in the dark, he gives Gheorghe all the kindness just under the surface, the softness waiting there. Gheorghe gathers him close and John kisses his neck, and he thinks about being warm in bed with this beautiful man in England while his family is two time zones away, his eyes prickling again with that mix of grief and gratitude.

“It is not so simple,” he eventually says into the dark. John hums, nose pressed to his jaw. 

“No?”

“No,” Gheorghe says, “not now. This is home, too.”

“Oh,” says John, and Gheorghe smiles.

“And you are good for me,” he says, and at that John laughs into his neck. “Oh, aye, Johnny Saxby, great influence.”

Gheorghe pushes him then, tackles him to the bed so he’s straddling John’s hips and leaning in close. “You,” he says firmly, “are good for me,” and kisses John till he’s not arguing anymore, just breathing heavily and grinding up against Gheorghe’s cock.

Midnight comes and goes, and they spend the first minutes of Christmas fucking in the moonlit dark, just as they please. Eventually they’ll fall asleep, and it will keep snowing, and in the morning Deirdre will fuss over them, and they’ll take care of the beasts and barn as quick as they can before Christmas tea.

It’s not perfect. But it’s good. 

-

**Author's Note:**

> Title/subtitles from the song by Janelle Kroll (https://youtu.be/LzLe55aMGaY). 
> 
> This was more difficult to write than most other fic I've ever worked on, because I wanted so much to do justice to the careful, reserved characterization of the film! The creator chose every word and scene and shot so precisely, and I tried to take a similar approach here, while also taking it where I wanted to go. 
> 
> This work is meant to flesh out what comes after the film ends, and how love and caring exists and grows between the two, without being overly sappy or vocal beyond what they could really handle. (Hence lots of sex, because that's how they communicate). I'm neither Romanian nor English so I made my best attempts at being in-voice, but please forgive my errors or cultural missteps. Thank you for reading ♥


End file.
